


Through The Surface

by Vespa_Whisper



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has Panic Attacks, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Panic Attack, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Self-Harm, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is just human, Suicide Attempt, dishes are a serious business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 11:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11252646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vespa_Whisper/pseuds/Vespa_Whisper
Summary: The Panic is waiting close under the surface. Hopefully Steve will be back home soon. All Bucky has to do is stay calm and follow the plan. What could possibly go wrong?





	Through The Surface

 

The Apartment seemed to shrink the moment the door closed and he heard the faint sound of the descending elevator.

 _Heartbeat rising. Rushing sounds starting to fill the ears_.

Bucky immediately started to concentrate on his breathing. Let the air float in. Hold. Exhale, calm and steady. Breathe. It’s alright. You can do it. It’s not the first time Steve leaves you alone for a while. You have practiced this with him, time after time. Stay calm. Stay fucking calm… When he finished counting to 10 his breathing nearly wasn’t shaky anymore. Dammit, he could do it.

Maybe he should have admitted to Steve that he had a really lousy night. Even by his standards. He should have asked him to stay, because the panic was waiting close under the surface. But he had managed to conceal it. He wouldn’t take this day from Steve. He wouldn’t condemn him to self-induced imprisonment along with Bucky, who was still unable to leave the tower and meet strangers without starting to fall apart.

He took one last deep breath and exhaled sharply. Time to get started. Bucky didn’t plan to waste this day by sitting in the corner of his dark room, shaking and sweating and waiting for the redeeming sound of his friend coming back. Not this time.

But he still wasn’t good at planning ahead. He often got confused. Irritated by things and sounds normal people wouldn’t even notice. And he himself couldn’t even foresee what activity would trigger a memory. And if it would be a pleasant one. Or one that would send him spiraling down the blackened hole of a severe panic attack. Or worse.

Bucky shook his head vigorously und send the outgrown curls of his dark hair flying. Stop. Worrying. Now. He had made a plan. He could follow the simple steps and Steve would be back before he even knew it. Oh, how proud he would be if Bucky made it through the day without a breakdown. The shadow of a smile formed on Bucky’s lips as he saw his friend grinning and giving him an acknowledging nod before his inner eye. He would show him that he got better, that he could really be the friend Steve hoped to regain. Not a burden. A wreck. Human waste. A rabid dog. The shy little smile vanished. What was he thinking? He had a vague idea of who this James Barnes had been, mostly through the things Steve had told him and the pieces of memory that fit his words, but that was it. Huge parts of his memory were still missing. The harder he tried to get his old life together the more it slipped from his clawing hands. There were too many memories that belonged to the Winter Soldier. Too many flashbacks. Too much guilt. A thorny lump started to form in his throat. Oh, for fucks sake, stop it already. Not now. Not yet.

He gave himself a shake and marched to the other side of the room where a small piece of paper lay on the kitchen table beside the remnants of their breakfast. He took it in his metal hand, the snakelike plates vibrating in unison.

A: Get the apartment ready. Step 1. Check Steve’s room. Step 2…. 

Of course he could simply call the maintenance team to clean up their rooms. It was the Stark tower they were living in after all. He couldn’t imagine that Tony Stark had scrubbed his own pots even once in his life. But that was no option for Bucky today. The thought of alien people invading the only space on earth where he found the tiniest bit of safety when he was all alone and vulnerable was unthinkable. Gosh, all things considered he belonged in the nuthouse. Well, maybe true, but he sure as hell wasn’t going back to the facility. And more important, he wouldn’t give up today. He would show them all that he was capable of living on his own and wipe the goddamn pitiful glances from their faces.

He made a fist with his right hand and let it hit hard on the table. Hell yeah. Let’s swing it. Bucky walked over to Steve’s room and opened the door. Fucking boyscout. As he had expected, Steve’s bedroom was painfully in order. Bed made. Not a single sock on the floor. Okay. Step 2. He closed the door again and went to clean up his own room. Bucky sighed as he entered. The realm of a mad man. Well, let’s start here then.

First he collected a few items of clothing strewn over the place and put them into the laundry basket. He had knocked over the bedside table in the night, so he put it back up and put the little lamp back on. Luckily he hadn’t trashed it. Next he took the torn sheets from last night’s nightmares from the bed and replaced them with fresh ones. He had to replace the whole pillow, which was shredded beyond repair. He folded the blankets neatly. Took his time. When the bed was ready Bucky closed his eyes and listened to his heartbeat for a minute. Everything was fine. He could do it. Still no alarming signs of anxiety. Steve was gone for nearly an hour now. A flash of mild panic flared through his stomach as he remembered that he was alone. Alone. Steve was gone. He wouldn’t come back. Why should he? To a friend that was a nutjob? A wreck. Human waste. A rab… No! Stop! Don’t go down this road or you will deliberately sabotage your own plans. Bucky became aware that his hands were clenched into fists and that the fingernails of his right hand bit sharply into his palm. He forced his hand open. Shit. His nails had already drawn blood. But the cut wasn’t deep. Surly he could hide it from Steve. Steve wouldn’t notice. This doesn’t count, doesn’t mean anything. Anything!

With wobbly knees Bucky went to fetch the broom. Feathers from the inlay of the torn pillow lay everywhere. He swept the floor thoroughly and soon the white feathers piled up in the middle of the room. Actually they looked nice. He squatted down and took a handful of downs in his right hand. They were soft. And fluffy.  God, had he ever felt anything _that_ soft? Bucky just sat there for several minutes in the middle of the room and marveled over the pure fluffiness of the little feathers. The prospect of putting them away in the trash made him sad.

"Don't be childish," he said to himself.

Bucky swept the feathers up and took them to the trashchute in the kitchen. Only one he kept.

With slightly trembling hands, as if he was doing something forbidden, he hid it away in the pockets of his black hoodie. Take this Hydra. Stealing feathers already. What a progress. He frowned sadly. Maybe he would show it to Steve later that day. Did he know that something could be _that_ soft?

Bucky returned to his room to finish the last task there: bring order to his tiny desk that was stacked with notebooks and pencils. Though Tony had tried to persuade him to start learning how to write on a computer, Bucky did not plan on changing how he wrote. He had started to fill these notebooks one week after the fight at the Triskelion. They were his only hold in a time where he thought he would snap for good. And even after he was caught and imprisoned by the remnants of Shield, he was allowed to keep writing. Writing. Writing. He didn’t know who had read what he had written at that time and he didn’t care. They already knew most of what the Winter Soldier had done through the leaked Hydra files. What counted was that they were here now. Ever in his presence. Every detail he remembered pinned down on paper. He was not going to lose all this. This was him. A growing stack of notebooks, filled with scribbles and scenes from lives that seemed like dreams and nightmares from far away. He knew he wasn’t going to be Sergeant Barnes ever again. Heh, it was more likely that be became the winter soldier again, given the possibility that the wrong people got him. All the protocols were still there. He could feel them writhing beneath the surface of his consciousness. He could sense them in the way he ducked his head whenever someone raised his voice in his presence. He could feel them in the way he still hesitated to make demands. He could see it in the eyes of the people around him, when they glanced at his metal arm. He knew it from the way he sometimes, in the dark hours of the night, when his brain started to turn against him and he had screamed himself hoarse, longed for the cold precision of the Winter Soldier, the clear path of a mission, the merciful blackness of the cryosleep, when every pain and everything that hurt and ached was buried under the ice.

Bucky took a deep shivering breath and lay the last notebook on the neat stacks on one side of the desk. He forced himself to turn around and let his gaze take in the room. Done. Still standing. Still functioning. All things considered, he was allowing himself a tiny little bit of proudness. He was doing well. He wasn’t pushing too hard. One step at a time. He had given himself a mission. And hell yeah he would comply. Time to clean up the kitchen.

Not much to do so. A few plates, coffee cups and some silverware from their breakfast waiting to be cleared away. A greasy pan on the stove. Some cutting boards. Bucky eyed the dishwasher suspiciously. He couldn’t risk doing anything wrong. For fucks sake, the thing had more buttons and electronic than Steve’s Car. Give him any kind of weapon and he could disassemble it and put it back together in seconds with closed eyes. But nobody had bothered to educate him about the achievements of modern life during the last seventy years. Fuck them all. Also he liked the routine of washing the dishes in the sink. One task at a time. One plate after another. Nice and clean. The old way. Something even he could not fuck up. What could possibly go wrong?

Bucky started to collect all of the dishes, put them in the sink and turned on the tap so they could soak. He watched the water stream down and the water level rise around the plates. The water made waves and splashes where the jet met the surface.

 _Where it met the surface_. Bucky frowned. The surface _… surface_ … water… So dark… Deep down… Debris falling into the black water of the river. A body. His mission. _I am your friend._ One moment the uniformed man was soaring through the air. And then he was gone. Swallowed by the black water. Vanished under the surface. An overwhelming feeling of loss and despair. _…till the end of the line_ … He killed him. _He knew him_. And he _killed_ him. Mission complete. Return to base. Report. Mission complete. Return to base. Report. Mission complete. Return to base. Rep…

The feeling of water streaming over the edge of the sink and soaking through his clothes ripped Bucky from his thoughts. In sudden panic he gripped into the water to pull out the plug only the jerk his hand back with a snarl through clenched teeth. The water was boiling hot and the skin of his hand turned immediately into a bright angry red. Goddammit. Without thinking the metal arm came rushing forward crashing right through the tap, sending the plates shattering to pieces and ripping the goddamn plug out of the sink. The broken tap send a fountain of water right to the ceiling. Bucky just froze and watched, eyes wide open with pain and fear and shame. In seconds he was drenched. The next moment the waterjet disappeared and a sudden voice out of nowhere send Bucky jumping back in panic. Jarvis.

“Sir, I sensed a malfunction in the water supply system at your apartment and closed the drains. Do you wish it to stay this way?”

 _Wish_. No meaning. Can’t think. Think, you sonofabitch, pull it together. The edge of his vision began to fade to black. He started to shake.

“Sir, I register an overly elevated heart frequency and an irregular breathing pattern. Do you want me to contact Captain Rogers?”

 _Want_. What? Captain Rogers. Rogers. Mission. The river. The surface. Going under. Drowning. No air. Goddammit, he can’t breathe. His chest hurt in a sudden blinding pain. Please, no. Not today. Let me breathe. Breathe. Yes, breathe. Count. Count to 10.

His heart was galloping like a wild horse on the flight.

Inhale. Wait. Exhale. Again. Again.

“Sir, I am going to execute emergency protocol now.”

“No!! Jarvis… n… no! I’m… I’m good,” Bucky managed to rasp through rattling teeth.

He had to lean on the kitchen counter to stop himself from falling to his knees. This fucking traitorous legs. Goddammit. Why couldn’t he just pull it together? He pressed his right hand to his chest, as if he could rip out the pain inside. Hi let his head sink down and a painful sound escaped his clenched lips. His hair clang to his face in damp strings. With eyes wide open he looked right down on the broken plates down in the sink.

And then his whole world fell apart.

* * *

 

Steve took off his baseball cap and sat down on the bench, letting his face drift towards the sunshine und stretched his legs. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. It was good to be out. He heard Natasha giggle beside him und gave her a questioning look from the corner of his eye.

“What?” he asked.

She answered with a cocky smile and a slight shrug.

“Nothing. It’s just that you look like a Badger that has come out of his cave after a very long winter.”

“You have no idea,” Steve nodded with a weary grin.

The woman watched him silently for a minute.

“I know it’s hard for the both of you. I wish there was more I could do,” she said finally.

Now it was Steve’s time to shrug.

“You do enough. You drag me out into the sunshine from time to time. You listen. Natasha, you are a good friend and I value your advice.”

She smiled her beautiful smile and looked down on her hands.

“Then let me do my job and tell me what you think,” she said honestly.

* * *

 

Bucky stared into a never ending abyss of hopelessness and pain, as he watched Steve fall down to the river, again and again and again. His face a bloody ruin. Blood everywhere. Bucky’s legs gave way and he sank to the ground like a broken puppet, trying hopelessly to breath. Broken. A wreck. Human waste. A rabid dog. One does not keep a rabid dog. One does put it down. Like he put down Steve. _I am with you_. Gone. Never to come back. _But I knew him._ Falling. Crashing down. Hitting the surface. Hitting. His fist crashing down again and again and again till the face of the man was a bloody pulp. _You know me._ I don’t know nothing anymore. Hydra took it all away. _You are the new fist of Hydra._ They gave him a purpose _. You shaped the century_. A Mission. _People are gonna die, Buck_. Steve gave him a mission. _Then finish it._ Okay Steve, I will finish it. I will be good. I promise.

* * *

 

Steve took a moment to collect his thoughts. The sun reflected merrily on the surface of the lake. He loved the central park. Though the vegetation had changed since the 1940th it was still the same lake. It was timeless. It connected his past with his current life and that feeling was one of the anchors he needed to adjust. He wished he could bring Bucky to see it. He nodded pensively to himself and started to talk.

“Since we got Bucky out of… security custody, he did some progress. I mean, he wasn’t even talking when he got here four month ago.”

Natasha nodded silently and Steve continued.

“Now he’s able to… well…have thoughts of his own. Sometimes when we talk about the old days he’s nearly Bucky again. I mean… of course he is Bucky. What I’m trying to say is… ahm… gosh… ”

Steve let his hand run through his hair, looking annoyed.

“I fear that he is trying to be the person he was 70 years ago," he continued, "and I have the feeling that he is doing it for me. I want to tell him that I’m ok with whatever person he turns out to be now, because the Bucky I knew will always be a part of him. But of course that can’t be all. How could it. However screwed up his life was under Hydra, he experienced many years while I was sleeping away down under the ice, staying the same. Look at Peggy. I see the woman she was 70 years ago in her, but there’s so much more. So much I can’t even begin to understand, because I wasn’t there to witness what experiences she made.”

Steve had to make a pause and take a deep breath to steady himself.

“I wouldn’t expect _her_ to be the person I knew," he added warily, "so how would I expect it from him?”

Natasha listened without looking at him. Her gaze drifted over the water. Steve took the time to watch a seagull make its way over the surface of the lake. The sun vanished behind a cloud and suddenly he shuddered.

“Natasha, I fear, that I am not enough. I do what I can, but he needs professional help. The nightmares. The screams. The constant anxiety. His fear of people, sounds, going out, everything. I tried to console therapists, god knows I did. But how can I risk someone getting hurt by a psycho assassin throwing a tantrum because he remembers some crazy sh... stuff. I’m searching for options here. He needs to be somewhere safe. Somewhere where he can get help while at the same time not hurting anyone. Including himself. Maybe it was a mistake to get him out of the facility.”

Steve set his jaw and felt his teeth clench together while he nestled with the baseball cap in his lap, not looking at Natasha. He felt that she was thinking about his words and they sat a while in silence. When she turned to look at him, an expression of concern lay on her features.

“Steve,” she began, “you have put your heart and soul into the task of bringing your friend back to life. And you are doing it alone most of the time, given the fact that most of the team is god knows where solving their own problems. I understand well that you are tired and I am saying again, that I’m willing to help you out more in the future, now that I’m back to New York. But honestly Steve, what I am hearing is that you secretly wished some miracle to happen and now you are stuck with a broken man who will probably never be fully alright. Who will deal with the aftermath of his doom for the rest of his life. And I’m not judging you.”

Natasha shock her head slightly.

“But I need you to be honest," she continued, "I don’t think Bucky needs a place where he can be put away. He made a tremendous amount of progress, because he feels considerably safe where he is. And that is only one of the reasons why we got him out.”

She leant towards Steve.

“I think, it’s a voice inside you that wants to get rid of him. A part of you that is secretly wishing that Bucky had never returned. Not like this.”

Steve stirred slightly, but remained silent.

“You made your peace with him being dead and gone. And suddenly he is back and you have to deal with this crazy shit, no, don’t you give me that look, Steve. You have to name the things by what they are. And the things Bucky has gone through are the greatest pile of shit you can even imagine. So you have to deal with his crazy SHIT, willing or not, because he is your friend and you promised yourself that you are committed to him. Because that’s who you are. You commit to something like it or lump it.”

Natasha looked at Steve intensely.

“Steve, I’m not saying that you’re lying. But you are not honest to yourself. Did you really tell Bucky to stop trying to impersonate past time James Barnes or are you secretly wishing he would swallow up all his problems, so you can pretend not to feel guilty about the fact that you could not stop him from falling off that train?”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Natasha continued before he could bring out a word.

“I am telling you this the hard way because I know you can take it, Steve," she urged, "You take a beating and you stand up again. And you finish the job. Because this is what you are, Steve.”

While talking she had grabbed Steve’s hand and was pressing it hard. Steve looked thunderstruck. He swallowed. His eyes darted restlessly over the lake.

* * *

 

Bucky was suddenly aware that he was crouching in the corner of the kitchen, his right arm pressed in front of his eyes, as if to fight off an attack. He didn’t know how much time had passed. His left fist clasped a shard of broken ceramic, edges sharp und glistening wet. He swallowed hard against the thorny lump in his throat. His breath came flat and fast. Too fast.

His vision faded again. Became a tunnel, a pinpoint, centering on the glistening sharpness of the shard in his fist. Panic feasted on his entrails and let his chest burn in unbearable pain. _You are my mission_. Steve was gone. He had killed him. He stabbed him. He shot him. He beat him senseless. He let him drown in the blackness of the river. _People are gonna die, buck._ His eyes burnt hot and raw. This must end. _Then finish it._

* * *

 

The realization that she was right hit Steve in the face like icy water and he just felt exhausted and horrible. He felt hot tears of shame and anger fill his eyes and wiped them away with a quick rub of his sleeve.

“I left him alone this morning," he whispered, "although I knew that he had a bad night, that he was not ok. I just couldn’t stand the thought of staying with him instead of walking in the sunshine with you. And he knew. Oh god, Natasha, what kind of friend am I?”

Natasha still had her quiet eyes on him.

“The kind of friend that nearly would have died for what he believed," she said, "that spend all his energy and strength on his friend until he has nothing left for himself. Steve, we will figure this out. We will find a way. For all of us, including Bucky. He depends on us. We will not let him down.”

Steve turned his head to look her straight in the eye. He took a deep breath and slowly found his composure again. Finally he nodded.

“You are right. Thank you, Natasha. I knew I could trust your honesty.”

He rubbed his eyes one last time and stood up.

“I have to get back. I hope, nothing bad happ…”

His phone gave away a shrill signal. Jarvis. Emergency protocol. In a second Steve had his phone out and at his ear.

“Sir, Mr. Barnes seems to experience a severe panic attack. I recommend immediate return to the Tower.”

“Thank you, Jarvis, I’m on my way.”

Natasha was already prepared to leave in a hurry. And they did.

* * *

 

Mission complete. Return to base. Report. Mission complete. Return to base. Report. Mission complete. Return to base. Report. Mission complete. Return to…

A sharp pain in his arm brought Bucky back in the moment. He looked down and watched with dreamlike surprise that he had rammed the broken shard into his right arm, just an inch beyond the wrist and started to push it further down along the veins. But no… that was not the plan… He had made a plan. With a confused look on his face he raised his head to search for the piece of paper, where he had written down his tasks for today. But his vision was blurry and dark around the edges. He couldn’t focus. Goddammit, he couldn’t focus. What was happening? What was the plan? What was the mission? Why can’t I breathe? He shook so hard that he bit his tongue, the sudden taste of copper and iron in his mouth making him want to vomit.

He looked down to find his metal arm pressing the shard into his right arm calm as the moon on a cloudless night. Blood dripped down in a steady stream and made red patterns in the puddle of water on the kitchen floor. A rushing sound filled his ears, drumming in harmony with the racing pace of his heart. _...are gonna die, Buck… finish it… !_

* * *

 

Steve and Natasha reached the tower running like the devil was behind them and jumped into the elevator Jarvis had opened the second they entered the building. As they rode up, Steve begged Natasha to wait outside the apartment so he could talk Bucky out of his panic attack without him freaking out about her. Bucky knew her, but she has been away for several weeks and Steve didn’t know how he would react.

As soon, as the doors opened, Steve darted out and over to his apartment. He opened the door and knew immediately that things were bad. At first he couldn’t find Bucky. He wasn’t in his room or on the couch or the bathroom where he used to hide sometimes, when the world became too much for him. Then he heard the faint murmur, like a whispered mantra and followed the sound to the kitchen area. His gaze flashed to the broken sink and tap, to the water that dripped from all surfaces and formed a wet puddle on the floor and finally to the corner, where Bucky sat shaking uncontrollably and Steve’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces. His friend squatted in a pool of water and blood, his face white as a ghost, trembling, eyes wide open and completely out of focus, dark hair hanging in wet strands around his sunken face which showed an expression of utter hopelessness and despair. All the while Bucky was whispering the same couple of words over and over again. He knew Bucky was too far gone to recognize him now. Last he realised what Bucky was doing to his arm and Steve’s eyes widened in terror.

“Bucky, STOP!”

* * *

 

“I promise… I’ll… be good… I comply… I promise… I’ll be good… ,” Bucky whispered his silent prayer hoarsely through shaking lips.

His arm kept cutting slowly down his skin. At the edge of his perception he heard someone shout his name. A shadowy person stretched a hand towards him. He jerk away and tried to press himself in the corner as far as possible. God, they found him. They were coming to take him away. They couldn’t have him. He was on a mission. Steve had told him to finish it. Rush. _Rush_. _RUSH._ The drumming in his ears went from load to nauseating until his head seemed to explode with every thump. His hand went cold as the blood kept seeping to the wet floor and he pressed the shard deeper.

“BUCKY!!”

That voice. Where did it come from? He raised his head once more, searching with eyes nearly blind with fear and confusion. In that moment he felt someone grab him, yank him up and forward only to push him down again until he hit the floor, face down. No! He had to finish it. With a growl he tried to fling himself around while maintaining the grip on the shard, but someone obviously knelt on his back and bent his metal arm behind him. He was nearly howling with rage and sorrow and despair coming from so deep down, that it felt as if his heart would burst apart. Finish the mission. He let his metal arm engage with all the energy it could muster and it soared further back buzzing angrily. The shard in his fist hit something and he heard a muffled shout of pain followed by a pressed voice.

“I need backup. Now!”

* * *

 

Steve wrestled Bucky down again and pressed both arms against his artificial arm. The Jeans over the gaping hole in his thigh was already soaked with blood. Bucky screamed like a caged animal and tried frantically to escape his grip.

Suddenly Bucky turned his hip, got his legs under his belly and hauled himself upwards, bringing Steve out of balance. Steve slid sideward, still holding the metal arm in tight grip, but now Bucky was on his legs, turned around and jerked his left arm down. Steve had to jump back and let go of the arm, or else Bucky would have sliced him.

“Bucky! Listen! It’s me, Steve!” he shouted.

Bucky looked as if he stood in front of a legion of nightmares ready to devour him. Blood leaked in a steady stream out of his severed right arm. He didn’t seem to notice. He just stood there shaking and panting, looking right through Steve with bared teeth.

* * *

 

_People are gonna die, Buck… Then finish it … black water… comply… sinking down… killed him… swallowed by the surface … gonna die, Buck… then finish it… die, Buck!... finish it… die... FINISH IT!! DIE!!  
_

Bucky raised the shard in an instance and pressed it against his throat.

* * *

 

“NO!”

Steve hauled himself forward. In that moment Natasha engaged from behind, tackling Bucky and bringing him to his knees. Steve grabbed the metal hand and pulled it violently away from Bucky’s throat with a fierce shout of fear. Natasha flipped a little shining device towards Bucky’s metal arm and Steve jerked his hands away. An instance later electrical charges surrounded the arm, making it go limb und finally the shard dropped out of his hand and onto the floor. Bucky screamed desperately und jumped after it. But Steve was faster and simply kicked it out of reach. Bucky fell to his knees, trying to support his weight with his hands on the ground, his searching gaze completely out of focus, snarling hoarsely.

“No! No… It’s my mission. I am ready. I will comply. I will finish it. I promised.”

Steve was panting, ready to defend himself, should Bucky engage again, eyeing that goddamn metal arm.

But Bucky looked completely burnt out, as if he couldn’t even attack if he wanted to, gazing around as if he couldn’t really make out his surroundings, seeing things that were not real. Nightmares. Steve send a help seeking look to Natasha. She simply nodded to him and went to the bathroom, where he heard her opening the cupboards. He closed his eyes for a second. It was up to him. He had to do this.

Slowly he knelt down, hands risen as if to calm a skittish animal.

“Bucky… the things you see… are not real. Can you hear me? It’s me, Steve.”

He cautiously stretched his arms and grabbed Bucky’s shoulders, trying to force his gaze onto him. He felt Bucky flinch away, but he strengthened his grip and didn’t let him.

”Bucky! Please listen! I’m back. We will go through this together, understand? You’re not alone. Look at me, please!”

* * *

 

 _Defeat_. Cold sweat covered Bucky from head to toe. He couldn’t fight anymore. Red flashes flickered before his eyes and his body went numb. Failure. Far away someone was speaking. Far away, in another life. He didn’t care. _Failure_. Hot tears ran down Bucky’s cheeks. Everyone is dead. All alone. A lightness spread in his head. He was falling. Soaring through the air. Drifting away through time and space. _Bucky, I’m back._ Falling. Tumbling. Drifting. _You are not alone._ Tumbling aimlessly through an endless void. _It’s me, Steve._ I’m sorry, so sorry, I failed. _We will go through this together._ I had a plan. A Plan… _The things you see are not real._ Something stirred inside Bucky’s mind and he blinked in confusion. _Bucky!_ What was happening? What happened to his plan? _Listen to me_ An image drifted through his battered mind. _Bucky, please!_ A feather... _I am back._ He wanted to show the feather to Steve, when he came back. But… _Can you hear me?_ Steve was gone. _Look at me._ Steve was… gone for good…. _I am right here._ Or… wasn’t he??

Suddenly his eyes came into focus and he looked straight into Steve’s concerned blue eyes.

“Steve?” he croaked hoarsly.

Steve’s expression flooded with relief.

“Thank god. Yes buddy, it’s me. It’s gonna be okay. Just breathe.”

“Steve, I’m s… so….”

“Hush now… It’s okay, don’t you worry.“

Bucky looked at him with disbelieving eyes.

“…I saw you die!” he whispered.

Steve answered with a little tug of his eyebrows.

“Well, nothing brought me down so far.”

Bucky’s mouth was suddenly dry as sand and he swallowed. He felt so goddamn tired. Suddenly even the strength to kneel left his body and he tilted forward. Steve caught him and took his shaking body in his arms.

“Don’t you think now, jerk. Just breathe and count to 10.”

Bucky looked up to Steve and suddenly things went back into place and his mind returned to reality. A wave of dizzy relief waved through his body and he was able to take a deep breath. He began to tremble with suppressed sobs and let his head rest against Steve’s shoulder. Steve sighed, his heart heavy as lead and he slowly began to stroke Bucky’s back.

Natasha was coming back to the kitchen area with a first aid kit in her hands and a clean towel. Steve didn’t try to conceal his own tears. She gave him a comforting smile, but went solemn again soon.

“Steve, we have to look after his injuries,” she urged, “Do you think he can manage that already?”

Bucky was crying silently, but Steve felt that his heartbeat was beginning to slow down at last. He waited another minute until Bucky’s breathing was steadier, then he nodded and Natasha wrapped the towel carefully around Bucky’s severed arm. She looked at Steve expectantly, but all the words had left him. He felt completely empty. He just couldn't. Natasha frowned and turned to Bucky, speaking quietly.

“Okay Barnes, it’s me, Natasha. Sure you remember me. We gonna go to the bathroom and clean you up. It’s gonna be ok. Just take it easy and let me help you.”

Bucky hesitated for a fraction, then nodded wearily and they helped him slowly to his feet and over to the bathroom. They sat him down on the toilet lid and he sunk into himself, looking dizzy and ashamed. Steve waited by the door, feeling uneasy. Natasha gave him a sidelook, one eyebrow raised. Then she continued to speak to Bucky like you would to a frightened child.

“Just hold still. I am going to take care of your arm. It will hurt. Do you understand?”

Bucky nodded again, averting their eyes.

“Bucky, it’s alright,” she spoke easing, “Just don’t drift away again. Stay with me!”

Bucky blinked.

“…stay… with me…“, he whispered.

Natasha sighed.

She began to unwrap Bucky’s arm over the sink and started to patch it up with practiced and steady hands. Bucky frowned and pressed his teeth together with his head down, letting his long hair conceal his eyes.

Several minutes passed. Then it was Bucky who broke the silence.

“I... I’m sorry. I messed up… again…”

His voice ebbed away and his shoulders sank down even further. Steve pressed his lips together and exhaled sharply through the nose, rubbing his eyes with his hand, not knowing what to say. He felt dizzy and exhausted. The tension of the last four month seemed to culminate in this very moment. The silence stretched uncomfortably.

"Steve... please... I will be good... Don't... please, don't send me away..."

Bucky's sorrowful voice was barely audible .

Steve's throat clenched. He knew he had to say something. He felt Natashas urging gaze. But his mouth wouldn't move. The right words fled his thoughts.

Natasha concentrated on fixing the wound again. Finally she was finished with the bandage and sighed for what felt like the thousands time.

“You were lucky. You missed the artery by a miracle. But the wound is quite a mess and you lost a lot of blood after all. So Steve, make sure, he takes it easy,” Natasha said while she washed her hands thoroughly, “Can I leave you guys alone for a minute, before I take a look at your leg, Steve?”

Steve nodded, not looking her in the eye and she left.

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice was filled with dread, “you’re hurt. I hurt you!”

Steve raised his head. Bucky was looking at the cut in Steve’s leg and the pain in his eyes went directly into Steve’s heart. And just like this he felt like his old self again and everything made sense. A leaden weight left his chest and he sighed with relief. He knew exactly what he had to say. Steve knelt down in front of Bucky and grabbed his shoulders, looking at him fiercely.

“Bucky, listen. Listen real good. Don’t you dare apologize to me. I realized something at least. And that is that friendship comes with a prize. When you give your heart to someone, you can’t expect to be safe and sound all the time. Things can get messed up and they did today. Period. Sometimes one gets hurt. And that is ok. Because it is my decision that I let you, Bucky. Because I care about you. You’re my friend exactly the way you are. I slipped and I wasn’t there, when you needed me, and I am willing to pay the price. And that is ok. Because we will figure this out. I promise. I mean it. I really do. I’m all in now. Are you with me?”

While Steve was talking, Bucky had slowly risen his head and was looking in Steve’s eyes with awe. He nodded seriously.

“Yes Steve, I’m with you. Always …till the end of the line.”

Steve smiled and nodded with relief. They looked each other in the eye. It was gonna be ok. They would be ok. Given time. Because even if they had nothing, they had each other.

Suddenly Bucky remembered something.

“I wanted to show you this.”

He dug into the pocket of his hoodie with his metal hand and reemerged with something white, crumpled and wet. He looked shaken again.

“… it’s broken…”, he whispered.

Steve frowned at the thing in Bucky's hand.

“What is it? Oh, I see. No problem, Buck. Sometimes I'm good at fixing things.” Steve took the crumpled feather from Bucky’s cold metal fingers with a sidelooped smile and turned to the cupboard. He took out a hair dryer and in less than a minute, the feather was good as new. Steve straightened it with his fingertips. “Wow,” he said, grinning in delight, “that’s fluffy. Can’t really remember feeling anything _that_ soft!”

And Bucky smiled.

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone,  
> I am dearly in love with the Winter Soldier and I'd like to thank all the authors who wrote those lovely fanfiction stories. I wanted to give something back, so I decided to try and write a short story of my own. I had this alternative version of the things happening after the ending of CA:WS in mind and gave it a try. English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistakes or poor word choices. I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know what you think. I appreciate every comment <3


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